


Pol'Acc

by NorthernStar



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Anal Sex, Cot Death, Dark fic, Dubious Consent, F/M, Jim Angst, M/M, Multi, Off-Screen Het, The Slash Version, Traumatic Zoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernStar/pseuds/NorthernStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...because without the sounds, all he would hear was the woman screaming over and over, ‘my baby, my baby’ inside his head and the stench and taste of death would consume him."</p><p>Original slash version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pol'Acc

**Author's Note:**

> Written around 2004-ish. 
> 
> In case anyone wonders about all the "slash version/gen version" stories in the Sentinel fandom, this is because I used to be part of the SentinelAngstList, a gen community that asked for "monthly dues" - a story or art or some such - as a membership "fee". It was often easier for me to just de-slash a slash I'd written that write a new fic.
> 
> Pol'Acc is British police radio shorthand for 'Police Accident'

“Help me!  God, somebody please!”

Jim slammed his foot on the breaks, yanking the wheel hard.  The car screeched to a halt, narrowly missing the hysterical figure that had run straight out in front of him.  She was sobbing incoherently, clutching a bundle to her chest.  Jim shot out of the car, catching her arm as she twisted and shook, screaming in terror.

“My baby. My baby!”  Her shrill cries battering at his sensitive ears.

Jim saw a leg dangling from the blankets she clutched and reached for the child.  The woman sobbed even harder, barely able to let the baby go.  “He’s not breathing!” 

“Let me help him!”

Almost forcefully, he tugged the bundle from the woman’s arms, feeling sick at the realisation that the body he held was limp and cold.  Jim tugged away the blanket and laid the baby on the seat of his car.  Out of its swaddling, he could see the pale milky face and darkening lips.  Refusing to believe what his eyes were already telling him, Jim bent and covered the baby’s mouth and nose with his and began to puff gently.

“What happened?”  He asked as he found the correct spot on the baby sternum and pressed down with two fingers.

She gasped.  “I went to check him and he wasn’t breathing!”  Her arms flew wild and for a moment, the motion of her hands, so like Sandburg’s filled his senses.  The almost zone snapped off as the woman sank to the ground sobbing, “my baby, my baby…save my baby…”

Another car stopped and a man and a woman got out.

“Call an ambulance!” Jim ordered, before bending back to breathe again into the child’s mouth.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman from the car scoop the distraught mother into her arms while her husband called an ambulance on his cel.

Then Jim concentrated on his task, blocking out everything else in his desperate battle to breathe life into the lifeless, cold child beneath him.  The world retreated.  There was nothing but the taste of death on the child’s lips, the smell of excrement and urine trapped in the baby’s nappy.  Time might well have stopped, the moment frozen forever, fossilised in amber; this moment where there was only one heartbeat – his own - and the stone cold skin of the dead child.

He must have zoned a little somewhere in there.  He was aware of being pulled backwards and of watching the paramedics take over the hopeless task of pushing life back into an empty shell.

Noises jumbled in the background, the bitter November wind felt sharp and icy across his skin, but the taste and feel of the baby’s dead lips in his own mouth was the only thing that was real.

“I’ll get someone to drive you home.”

He focused on the words, heard them repeated.  The world around him sharpened, and the heightened play of his senses settled into normal.  He realised that Simon’s dark, serious face stared into his own and felt a vague sensation of confusion at his sudden presence.

“I need to make a report.”  The words, falling from his lips, sounded like they came so easily, betraying nothing of the battle he’d fought just to speak.

Simon sighed.  He looked tired.  A dead baby could do that to a person.  “A day won’t make a difference here.  I hate to say it but this is low priority, Jim.”

“Low priority?”  He echoed.  “Low priority, Simon?  THAT BABY JUST DIED!”

Simon didn’t react.  “Hell, Jim, you know I don’t mean it like that.”  But there wasn’t any anger in his voice.  “Its cot death.  Probably nothing suspicious.”

“Probably?” 

Simon shook his head, refusing to be baited.  “Go home, Jim.”

 

 

***

 

Joel wanted to escort him all the way to the door, but Jim convinced him he’d be ok.  They both saw Blair’s car parked outside and Joel grudgingly let him go on in alone, knowing Sandburg was up there to watch out for him.

Jim climbed the stairs, his hearing instinctively focusing on the noise coming from his loft.  Soft giggles, a sigh, the slide of flesh on other flesh.  At the door the scent reached him.  Man and woman, Blair and whomever.

He knew Blair’s scent, even his sex scent having smelt it often, tainted with a woman’s juices and sometimes, but only _sometimes_ and what the hell was the kid thinking, accompanied by the tang of latex.  Once or twice, he thought he’d smelt a man too.  But on those occasions, Blair was always drowning in soaps and lotions and cologne and Jim could never be sure.

“Mmmm….yeah…”  The murmur was barely audible, even to Sentinel ears.  The faint tickle of licking followed and the soft moans increased.  The imagined taste of Blair’s semen flooded his mouth, mingling with the taint left by the baby’s lips, even though he knew it was the woman moaning and Blair was the one doing the licking.

“Oh, God…Blair…”  Her cries were echoed in his own head and he sank down the wall beside the door.  Through the thick wood, there was a rustling sound, movement of bodies followed by a soft squelch of a woman being penetrated.  As he sat there, with the taste of death still in his mouth and listened, hearing every thrust Blair made, silently echoed every moan and cry. 

Jim was drowning in the sounds, senses laid bare, couldn’t rein them in. 

The words made him sick. 

“Yes…oh yes…oh… _harder_ …yeah…yeah…God…mmmm….” 

Overlaying the cries in his head… ” _my baby, my baby”_ …screaming in time with Blair’s thrusts. 

There were sounds of movement, changing position, and then the woman cried out as thrusting began again.  “Oh yeah…right there…yeah… mmm….mmm … _Blair_ …YES…Oh God you feel so good…inside of me…”

And God, Jim knew that would be true.  And how good it would feel to be inside Blair, safe inside his Guide, where all the hurt in the world couldn’t reach.  Where there would only be Blair.

Just Blair…

“Yes…Blair…yes…ugh…ugh…oh…mmmm….”  Her voice dissolved into wordless cries and his ears picked up the peak of her heartbeat and the slick spasms of her vaginal wall.  On and on the litany went, but he couldn’t _not_ listen, because without the sounds, all he would hear was the woman screaming over and over, ‘ _my baby, my baby’_ inside his head and the stench and taste of death would consume him.

Then finally there was a grunt and gasps and harsh breathing and then peace, soft kisses and whispers.  And in that silence, the echoes of the mother’s voice grew so loud that the assault on his senses was almost a physical pain, tearing at him, until he was pressing his fists against his temples in an effort to get it to stop.

_Make it stop, make it stop; make it stop, makeitstop, makeitstop, makeitstop…_

_MAKE IT STOP…_

But the cries went on and on and all he could taste was death until he was gasping, stumbling to his feet and running blindly out into harsh sunlight.

 

***

 

He stopped when his knees bumped against his vehile and he placed his hands on his truck, head bowed, breathing.  Unwillingly as he’d listened, his body had tightened, responding to the stimulus but the fight or flight reflex, all jumbled by his senses, was rapidly taking care of the erection. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but when his head snapped up in response to Blair’s voice, the sky had turned to the burnished copper of approaching dusk.  He could hear birds flying home to roost, cars on the freeway in the distance…

There were no screams in his head, only faint whispers.

“Jim?” 

He turned, saw that Blair was dressed.  A woman was at his side, blonde and pretty in a sweet, little girl way and he realised his Guide had been walking her to her car.

“Jim, man, you OK?”

The anthropologist came closer, reeking of sweat and sex and woman and alcohol. 

“Is it your senses?  Did you zone?”

“I’m OK, Chief.”  The smell kept him grounded, smothering the tang of death overwhelming him.  “Bad day.”

Concern was clear in Blair’s eyes. A curl hung down across his forehead, bobbing in the breeze.  It was hard and clumped together and smelt of sex.

“Give me a minute.”  He returned to the woman but Jim didn’t listen to the goodbye he was giving her.  He didn’t care, as long as he was getting his Guide back.

Blair returned and helped him inside and into the lift.  They travelled up, with Blair asking quick fire questions constantly, the rise and fall of his voice almost hypnotic.

Inside the loft, the scent of sex was heavy.  His nostrils twitched.

Blair looked sheepish.  “Thought you were working tonight.”

“I was.”

“What happened?”

Jim sank down on the sofa and the last of his adrenaline faded, leaving him shaky and a little sick and so very aware of the musk in the room.  Blair came to his side and took his hand.  He looked down at their entangled fingers and allowed the warmth of Blair’s skin to overlay the memory of the child’s cold body. 

Blair was so… _alive_.

He covered Blair’s hand with his other, stroking over the strong fingers.  Blair’s index and middle fingers were coated with a thin dried film of the woman’s vaginal juices, rough against his fingertips.  Jim could smell her, sweet and salty and bitter. 

“You smell like her.”  Jim murmured.  He lifted the hand and separated out those two fingers before lowering his head to take them into his mouth. 

Blair snatched his hand back but not before the sea salt taste of Blair’s lover flooded his mouth. 

“Jim, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

Jim didn’t answer. 

Blair’s wide eyes watched him as he leaned in to his friend and buried his face in Blair’s curls.  He was dimly aware of the returning pressure in his body, detached from the familiar ache in his balls.  His erection was back, hard and straining. 

Blair pulled back but Jim caught him and held him firm, pressing him back against the arm of the sofa. 

“Jim…Jim, I don’t think…”  Blair’s breathing hitched.  “I don’t think this is a good idea, man.”

Jim began biting his way down Blair’s neck, holding fast to Blair’s wrists.  His grip wasn’t that tight, Blair could break it if he put effort into the battle, into fighting Jim, but then…Blair always fought with words.

Jim began scrapping at his Guide’s clothing and Blair gasped as his shirt was pulled off of him, revealing chest hair and the gleam of a nipple ring.  Jim took hold of him again, tighter this time, and attacked the pierced flesh, tugging at the sensitised nub.  He grunted as his mouth was assaulted by another foreign taste, every bit as unpleasant as the baby’s – the bitter taint of Blair’s lover.   But he swallowed down the traces of the woman’s saliva all the same, replacing it with his own.

Maybe he would have stopped once he’d licked Blair clean, once he could smell Blair and only Blair again, but he caught the faint scent of fresh pheromones from his Guide, betraying the reaction of his friend’s body.

He leaned in the front of Blair’s jeans and took a breath, breathing the aroma in.  Blair flinched back.

“Jim…we need to talk…”

The reluctance made him angry and he let go of Blair’s wrists to grab at the younger man’s jeans instead.

“Don’t…”  Blair warned.

Jim ignored him.  The thick smell of woman rose up when he pulled Blair’s jeans down.  His Guide was barely aroused, still sated from the woman.  Jim growled and started forward.  Blair quickly put both hands out, palms slapping against Jim's chest, holding him off.  "Jim, I can help you, all right, but you gotta calm down!"

Jim pushed the arms back, hands to wrists, and set to work licking the flavour of the female off his Guide’s almost flaccid penis. Blair made a sharp sound of protest, hips shifting, feet trying to gain purchase, legs tangled in jeans and underwear.

“Jim…”  The protest was soft, confused, but the grip on his head was strong, pushing him back.  "I don't wanna hurt you, man."

Jim paid it no mind as the taste of woman and Blair and Blair’s semen enveloped his mouth, spurning him on.  His heart clattered in his chest – just the way the baby’s had once done.  When it lived.

_My baby, my baby…_

No…

He sucked more strongly, grazing the glans gently against his teeth. Blair groaned and the hands griping him twisted, delivering pain and he was knocked back by a blow.  He landed on his backside on the carpet, looking up at Blair.

Jim’s lips felt clumsy, the inclination to speak coming as slowly as the word, but arrive it did.  “…please…”

Blair stared at him, wide-eyed, but Jim took his silence to mean he wasn’t denying him.  He moved forward again and this time, Blair's hands stayed down, lying limp at his sides.  Jim began sucking and kissing around the root of Blair’s slowly filling cock, leaving his own familiar scent in his wake.  At the base, he continued around the heavy balls, cradling the sac out of his way to tease along the perineum with his tongue. There was nothing but this taste, this soft/hardness beneath his tongue, the pleasant ache in his jaw and the moans of his Guide. 

Blair whimpered as Jim’s fingers slipped between his buttocks and began toying with the hidden pucker. Blair’s scent was strongest here, at its purest. The delicate hole tightened at his touch, and then relaxing after a moment when he started to stroke and tease the opening. Then he pushed in dry and Blair flinched under his grip, hissing at the sharp pain.

Distantly, Jim wondered if the baby had felt any pain in its passing.

Blair’s body gripped him, trying to repel the invasion but Jim sank his finger further in, feeling all along the walls.  Blair moaned softly and Jim tightened his grip on his hip with his free hand as he began thrusting with his other, shoving harder every time, his finger getting just that little bit deeper.

“So tight…”  Jim murmured and pressed in another finger.

“…Jim…” The whisper was desperate, dying on his lips as Jim’s fingers bumped against his prostate.

Jim heard the moan of pleasure and repeated the action, first pressing then stroking and finally jabbing at the little gland.  Blair’s legs trembled and Jim could hear his Guide’s heart thunder rapidly in his chest.  His penis stood tall and proud and Jim took it in, sucking and licking. 

Blair’s hips moved restlessly and his balls drew up, stifled moans escaping from his clenched jaw.  Jim tasted the first sweet nectar of pre-ejaculate and everything began to lessen, peices of his world began falling into place.  He felt the carpet beneath his knees, the tight, dry grip of Blair's body on his finger, heard the sounds of Blair's spiky breathing and the traffic outside and...

Another salty scent battered at Jim's senses – tears. He could smell tears.

Jim looked up. A single track of moisture shone on Blair’s cheek. His Guide’s face was a study of confusion and concern and something that might have been fear. 

And then everything fell into place. No death, no loss, no incursion.  There was only Blair. 

Only Blair.

Jim pulled back, aware of the silence in the room.  He could smell Blair’s arousal and his own, his Guide’s sweat and tears but nothing else.

The overwhelming clawing stench of death was gone.  The danger was gone.  The Guide was his again.

There was no failure here.  No death.  Just life…

 

***

 

Blair gasped, shaking, drawing breath into his heavy lungs.  He sat up, a million questions in all flavours of emotion from anger to concern dying on his lips as he took in the man at his feet.  Jim was trembling, eyes full of shock but aware.

For the first time, he was aware of himself, of Blair.

Blair gropped to his knees beside Jim and tugged him into his arms, feeling the tremors shake the Sentinel’s solid frame.  They stayed that way for a long time until Jim shifted in his arms, turning to face him. 

“Jim,” he asked eventually.  “What the hell happened to you today, man?”

It was the wrong thing to ask.  Something like a shadow crossed Jim's face and Blair had to stifle a flinch.  Jim's mouth was suddenly covering his own.  Blair groaned under the intensity of Jim’s kisses, feeling the hot hard length of Jim’s erection pressing into his stomach.  His own reluctant arousal soared in answer. He had wanted Jim for so long but not this way.  Never like this.

But whatever this was, whatever Jim had been through that had shattered him so badly, he needed this to bring him back.  That one moment of clarity was proof of that. 

Jim’s mouth broke from his and he found himself roughly turned over.  He swallowed his impulse to cry out when a knee forced its way between his legs and kicked them apart.  His heart skipped a beat as he felt Jim’s hands against his buttocks.

_No…_

_Yes…_

It had been over a year since he’d last been fucked.  God, it was going to hurt.

God, why had he waited that long?

Blair moaned as he felt the swollen head bump against his opening, hot and massive against his tiny entrance.

Jim thrust forward, pushing through the loosened ring of muscle.

Pain flared in his dry channel and his hiss of discomfort made Jim pull out almost all the way.  Blair blinked back reactive tears and his protest died on his lips as he heard Jim spitting into his palm.  Then he felt Jim’s hand moving at his buttocks, coating his cock, before his hardness sank back in, gliding a little easier now, a little less painfully. 

And then out.  In and out… slowly.

Still pain, but not so much.

Blair shut his eyes.  He could do this.  For Jim, he could do this.

“Tight…tight…tight…”  Jim murmured.

But the insistent thrusts were pulling deliciously at the delicate and sensitive tissues of his perineum and the jolt against his prostate could not be denied and the pain dissipated under the growing pleasure until Blair was moaning and pushing back against the invasion.

With a growl, Jim thrust harder, hitting Blair’s prostate again and again, pounding the nub, hiking Blair’s arousal higher and higher with each bolt of pleasure from the hidden gland.  His cock was swollen and red, aching to be stroked and fisted, needing just that little extra, just the relief of friction to push him over.

Desperate to come, he reached down to touch himself but his hand was batted away.  Blair moaned in frustration.

“Jim…please…”  He was lost…so lost…  “T…touch…touch me…please…”

Jim drew back as far as he could and plunged back in, in so deep it felt like he might never get out.  Blair cried out as his prostate was pounded beneath Jim’s glans and the Sentinel finally gripped Blair’s erection and pumped it frantically.  His hardness was suddenly engulfed in sensation, tight glorious friction and he thrust into it wildly then back onto the invasion.

Blair almost sobbed as he rocked between the pressure on his cock and the pressure on his prostate, pleasure spiralling out of control. 

One more thrust from Jim against his gland tipped him over into ecstasy, his channel flexing gloriously around the hardness buried there as his penis pumped over Jim’s fingers. 

Jim moaned at the exquisite sensations rippling over his hardness, the seemingly endless fluctuations of Blair’s channel squeezing him so tightly, so perfectly he never wanted the sensation to end.  He thrust wildly, senses flying apart, drowning in life and pleasure and release and with a roar, came hard inside Blair, shaking with the intensity of his orgasm.

 

***

 

They both collapsed, trembling.  Jim curved around Blair, spooning up behind him, arm tight around his chest.  He lay there, breathing hard, listening to the soft sounds of Blair gasping quietly.  It felt like full circle.  He tightened his grip on his Guide, surrounded by the sound of his heartbeat, the smell of his semen and the warmth of his skin.

Jim closed his eyes.

And after a moment, he slept.

 

***

 

It was cold and dark in the loft when he woke, alone, still on the carpet.  A throw had been laid over him, keeping out the worst of the chill.  Jim sat up, eyes sharpening in the darkness, seeing as clear as day. 

The loft windows were open, sharp city smells invading their home, and Blair stood before them, staring out at the night, wrapped in stripy sweater and sweats.

Jim came up beside him.

“I’m sorry.”  The apology came instinctively to his lips.

Blair gave no sign that he’d heard.

“It was…”  But Jim didn’t know what it was, couldn’t explain it.  He laid a hand on Blair’s shoulder.  “I didn’t mean…”

His Guide tensed at the touch, but didn’t pull away.

“It was…an accident, Chief.”

“Accident?”  Blair’s voice was shaky, but Jim heard the note of contempt in his tone just the same.

“I don’t know what happened.  It was like…like when I zone…but I was there. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Chief.”

Blair turned to look at him, scientific curiosity winning out over his confusion – just as Jim knew it would. 

“It’s like…I didn’t know what I was doing…but I did.  There was-” The words froze and Jim turned, walking back into the safety of the loft.  He couldn’t say the words, couldn’t make that child’s death real again. 

“Jim, I can help you, man, but you’re gonna have to be honest here.”

Jim licked his lips, seeking the taste of death but finding only Blair.

Just Blair…

“Jim?”

“There was death, Chief.  On me, in me, every one of my senses and you…you were alive.”

Blair paled at the mention of death.  “Is everyone all right?”

“It was…it was…a baby.”  He swallowed.  “He died, Chief.  He died in my arms.”

Blair touched his arm.

“I tried giving him mouth to mouth but…”  Jim shook his head, unable to say the words.

Blair wrapped his arms around the Sentinel.

“You did everything you could.”  Blair told him.

“I could taste it.  Taste that baby’s death. Hear it, see it, feel it…”

Blair pulled back, frowning.  “You zoned.”  He murmured.  “You zoned on his death.”

“You always bring me back but you…”  His words stumbled.  “You were…you weren’t…you.”

“I smelled like her.”  Blair whispered, echoing Jim’s earlier words, horrified understanding dawning in his eyes.

Jim brought his hand up to Blair’s face and ran his fingers lightly over his cheekbone.  “I made you smell like you again.”  His knuckles moved to graze Blair’s lips.  “Like us.”

Blair looked at him, eyes shadowed and dark. 

Lost…

Jim didn’t flinch from the gaze.  “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

 

~~fin~~


End file.
